


Day 730

by Masu_Trout



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Cats, Gen, Ghost Cats, Ghosts, Heart-to-Heart, Or Core-to-Core, Post-Canon, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4783817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masu_Trout/pseuds/Masu_Trout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yomiel spent ten years completely alone, neither alive nor dead. </p><p>Now, in this new timeline, people just won't stop caring about what happens to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 730

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ziskandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziskandra/gifts).



> Lythdan, I hope that you enjoy this!

Day 730. A milestone.

The inside of his jail cell had stopped being exciting around day 4, but Yomiel figured he had no room to complain. At least he had people to visit him and a life to return to once he was released, unlike— 

Well. No point in thinking about that right now. He'd spent more time than he could count throughout his first 729 days hating himself for what he'd done, and he was sure he'd find even more time to think about it during his next 2920. Today, though, was a milestone, and so he was celebrating.

Two years in prison. Eight to go. 

Time was simultaneously racing past him and dragging by at a snail's pace; one minute it would feel as though he'd spent barely a month here, and the next he'd have to remind himself that it had been two years rather than a hundred. He'd always known spending so much time in an un-aging body would wreak havoc on his sense of chronology.

Yomiel examined his palette for a moment, then dipped his brush into the brown and painted a curving spiral across the canvas. Sissel—the human one—had come by earlier today. She'd brought him a cake and a new set of paintbrushes, and spent a few hours telling him about everything going on outside. 

He already knew most of it, of course—nothing large-scale had changed in this timeline yet. But it was so nice just to sit and listen to her voice, watch the way her hands moved as she described something particularly exciting.

Every time he saw her, something was different. There'd be a new wrinkle hiding in the curves of her soft face, a fresh bright color painted on her lips or nails, or her hair would be ever-so-slightly shorter or wavier or darker than before. There were so many versions of her that he'd never gotten a chance to see in his original timeline, and every single one of them was more beautiful than the last. He wanted to capture every single one of them, so that he would never forget just how lucky he was.

Sissel added another hint of brown to the canvas in a slightly shorter stroke, then frowned. 

Well, maybe he wouldn't show her this one. He still had a _lot_ of work to do on his portrait drawing.

Yomiel had assumed Jowd was crazy when he first brought him the bundle of art supplies. (And, judging from the way he'd laughed, the detective had known _exactly_ what he was thinking.) Yomiel was a programmer, not a painter – he couldn't possibly be any less of the creative type. But there was something very soothing about it, especially in here; the act of creation helped him to remember that there was a world outside of cinder blocks, plastic cots, and bland cafeteria food. When he painted, he focused only on the subject he was trying to recreate.

...Not that he was particularly good at it just yet. Yomiel suspected he had a good few years to go before his skill level got even close to Jowd's.

An echoing clatter rang out from the corner of his cell. Yomiel jerked in surprise, splattering paint across the canvas, then swore under his breath as the section he'd been working on disappeared into a smudge of brownish-grey. He sighed and put down his brush; he was just going to have to accept this painting as a lost cause. 

The threadbare little cot that the officers here called a bed had unfolded from the wall, the hinges screaming a complaint as it did. On its own, that wouldn't be anything suspicious—the cells here were always falling apart somehow. Even Yomiel wouldn't have thought twice about it if not for the fact that a scrap of paper under his bed was _twitching_. As he watched, it flipped into the air as if blown by an invisible current.

Yomiel had lost his connection to the ghost world when he regained his life, but old habits died hard. He could trace the path the spirit was taking: a paint tube curled slightly as it leaped from the paper, and chalk dust drifted towards the ground as it connected to his board. Finally, one more jump connected it to Yomiel's sunglasses and then to his core.

The world went red. The paper stopped its fluttering descent, the tube froze in mid-curl. All around him was pure, silent stillness.

 _Hello, Sissel_ , Yomiel thought.

 _Hello_. 

Sissel was himself today, sleek and black-furred with the brightest yellow eyes Yomiel had ever seen. It wasn't always that way—sometimes he showed up looking like Jowd or Lynne or even Yomiel himself. Lately, though, he'd been doing that less; Yomiel could only assume Sissel had picked up on his discomfort. There was something almost eerie about looking himself in the face, especially when Sissel was more open and animated than he'd ever been.

If Sissel picked up on his fleeting thought, he had the kindness not to comment. Instead, he flicked his gleaming eyes upward, towards the moon that hung somewhere far above them.

_It's a nice night out._

An image flashed across Yomiel's mind: the moon hanging low in the sky, so full it looked as though it might burst. The grass around him waving as a warm breeze ruffled his fur. A mouse, only a few meters away, scratching in the dirt.

_I see where your priorities are._

Sissel blinked slowly, unconcerned. _Well, everyone needs a hobby, right? And mice are a lot easier than other things I've had to chase around._

Like himself, Yomiel knew. Or his former business associates, or Jowd or Cabanela or Lynne.

 _Especially Lynne,_ Sissel groaned. _At least I never have to feel guilty if I don't bring the mice back._

Another fragment of Sissel's memory burst through his core: Alma, complaining to Jowd as she held up a chewed-through box of cereal. _You do, though, don't you? You bring them back every time._

Sissel's tail lashed. _It's not... it's not out of sentimentality or anything. It's just more fun if I don't have to waste time waiting for new mice to move in every time I catch one._

_...That would be an obvious lie even if we weren't in the ghost world._

_Agh._ Sissel's ears twitched and, fur bristling, he very deliberately turned his back on Yomiel.

Perhaps it was cruel to laugh in the ghost world, where the other participant in the conversation had no chance of ignoring you or drowning you out. But Yomiel couldn't have stopped himself if he tried. 

_So,_ Yomiel thought finally, _What did you come here for?_

_It's a special day, isn't it?_

_I didn't expect you to remember._ Day 730. A milestone. It was important to him, certainly, and to Sissel-his-fiancee, but he hadn't expected anyone else to remember. (Least of all this Sissel, who'd never seemed to care much about human things like anniversaries.)

 _I didn't,_ Sissel admitted. _Jowd mentioned it._

Jowd? If anything, that was more surprising. He knew the man kept occasional tabs on him, but he hadn't expected it to extend that far. It was fair enough, though; if he were someone else, he wouldn't have believed his own change of heart. He could hardly fault Jowd for being wary still.

The emotions rolling off Sissel's core felt strange, a mixture of concern and... exasperation, perhaps?

 _It's not like that at all,_ Sissel thought. _He wanted me to ask you when you'd be applying for parole._

 _Parole_?! 

Yomiel had been more shocked a few times in his life, but certainly never within this timeline. _If that's a joke, it's not a very good one._

If Sissel still had hands, he would've put his head in them. _You were_ just _teasing me about lying in the ghost world. How exactly do you think I'd be able to lie to you about this?_

Yomiel bit at his lip. He hadn't been expecting this. He'd fielded the question from the other Sissel a few times, but Jowd? He'd never imagined that the thought would so much as cross Jowd's mind.

Yomiel adjusted his hoodie and straightened his glasses. Things didn't get rumpled in the ghost world, but the movements felt familiar. Comfortable. They helped him regain some semblance of self-control.

_Well, then. Tell him I'm not going to._

Sissel hissed under his breath, eyes narrowing. Despite the situation, Yomiel almost wanted to laugh; the last time he'd heard that noise was a timeline over and eight years in the future, when he'd dumped the crusts of his tuna fish sandwich down the sink instead of into Sissel's bowl. 

_I still remember that, by the way._

_It had tomatoes in—you know what, no._ Yomiel pinched the bridge of his nose. _There is no timeline where I'm willing to argue pet ownership strategies with my own pet._

Gold flickered black as Sissel blinked. _That's fine. But if you won't listen to me about the sandwich, at least listen to me on this._

_Sissel..._

_I mean it, Yomiel. Jowd told me you'd get it easily. Even he doesn't think you belong in here._

_You don't know—_

Sissel cut him off with a flick of the tail. _Ghost world, remember? I know._

Yomiel grimaced. _Jowd isn't the only one I hurt._

_Maybe the other Alma would have hated you—_

_Maybe?_

_Probably._ Sissel's ears twitched as he thought. _No, definitely. She definitely would have hated you. But the Alma in this world just wants you to hurry up and get out so her husband can stop worrying about old cases all the time._

Thanks to his glasses, most people avoided trying to make eye contact with Yomiel, but Sissel's gleaming eyes fixed on him as if they weren't even there. _And as for Lynne, I know her a lot better than you do. She'd definitely think that you're being stupid. I'm not sure she's capable of holding a proper grudge._

Yomiel sighed, letting his gaze settle on the farthest corner of his cell. The world around him looked eerie; even after two years without it, some part of him still expected the ghost world to be his shade of blue. He'd spent more time than he could count—and no time at all—manipulating things from within that space; sometimes he still dreamed in the color.

 _Look,_ he thought finally. _I appreciate it, Sissel. I really do. But I'm not going to leave early, no matter what anyone else might want. Other people might not remember what I did, but I can't possibly forget. Trying to leave early would feel like cheating. It wouldn't be right._

 _That's fair enough,_ Sissel thought. Yomiel could feel the disappointment drifting from him, but Sissel had always been kind. He wouldn't push. _I'll let Jowd know what you said._

Which, knowing the man, meant that he definitely hadn't heard the last of this particular issue. He could deal with that when he came to it, he supposed.

Yomiel closed his eyes, thinking of the image Sissel had sent him. The moon, the stars. The wind dancing through the grass and ruffling his fur. The world looked so much sharper from a cat's point of view.

 _Sissel. Thank you. When I first met you, I had nothing._ He'd been consumed with rage and despair, willing to do anything at all for a chance to pretend at what he'd lost. _My life minus ten years is a better deal than I could've ever imagined getting._

Certainly it was a better one than he deserved.

_Well, that's what cats do, isn't it?_

_And now you're stealing lines!_ Yomiel laughed. _Just when I thought you were trustworthy._

Sissel purred, pawing at one ear in an almost-human gesture of embarrassment. _It's not like he'll ever know._

 _Still, it's the principle of the thing._ Yomiel paused. _Wait, do you even know what copyright law is? Did Jowd ever explain that to you?_

_He tried to once, during a case. You have to... copy what you don't want copied so others can't copy your copies? I don't understand why human things have to be so complicated._

_Heh. Neither do I, most of the time._

Yomiel smiled to himself. Day 730. Month 24. Year 2. One-fifth of the way through his imprisonment. 

Once, he'd been a prisoner in his own body, completely alone and trapped in an endless cycle of life and death. Here, he had the woman he loved. He had someone who knew exactly what he'd gone through—someone he could talk with without having to hide. And, for reasons he couldn't even begin to understand, he had people who cared what happened to him.

As far as prisons went... 

Well, he'd found himself a pretty good deal.


End file.
